


Golden Room (of Lies)

by iamsherlockedwithjohn



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia!Thomas, Asylum, Freeform, Gally - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of Newtmas being a couple, Newt - Freeform, The Maze Runner - Freeform, They're all at an asylum, Thomas - Freeform, Thomas is suffering from amnesia due ECT, Trigger warning: electroconvulsive therapy, minho - Freeform, teresa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamsherlockedwithjohn/pseuds/iamsherlockedwithjohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The darkhaired boy slowly wakes up from the deep slumber and moves his stiff, exhausted body, as he, confused, wonder what he's doing in the too bright, chilly room. The soft glow from the dimly lit lamp in the corner near the window, is blinding him and aggravates the pounding headache, that is only making it worse by time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Room (of Lies)

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I felt like posting, really. Constructive critic is appreciated.

The darkhaired boy slowly wakes up from the deep slumber and moves his stiff, exhausted body, as he, confused, wonder what he's doing in the too bright, chilly room. The soft glow from the dimly lit lamp in the corner near the window, is blinding him and aggravates the pounding headache, that is only making it worse by time. He gently protects his almond brown eyes from the glow, with the back of his palm. He vaguely remembers someone or _something_ entering a room, instantly followed by a draining, gut wrenching fear and piercing, heartbreaking screams. Was it him that screamed? He squeezes his eyes shut and groans. _Fuck_. He can't remember. He can't remember anything. Not even his own… Name. Fear is creeping in on him, turning his blood into ice and reality finally kicks in, but he can't let it win. Not this time.

He's left fragile, stripped off of whatever identity and life he used to have. It must be some kind of sick, cruel joke. In the heat of the moment, he tries to remember his mother's name or her kind, lovingly eyes, but all that is left to him, is blank faces, staring directly back at him from the darkness that now controls his memories. A faint memory of pink, perfect lips moving, comes to him, except there's no sound leaving them. They keep moving in the same, synchronized motion and it's driving him over the edge, when you're so used to atleast acknowledge or recognize a voice, that belongs to that certain person. It exactly feels like when you have a song or a movie, knowingly on the tip of your tongue, but you still _can't_ tell who it is. Frustrating. With a defeated sigh, he rests his weary head against the ruined wall and the nausea is finally catching up with him, uncomfortably churning in his stomach like an uncontrollable hurricane. He's overall in a daze, not functioning optimally and his mind is a blurry.

'God, what the hell is going on here?' he overwhelmed manages to think and opens his mouth. In the same second he regrets the decision, when his hoarse throat clenches and has difficulty swallowing a lump, which has been there for some time. During the time he's been awake, he hasn't focused on the increasing hunger or his insatiable thirst. Water. He desperately needs water. A low rattle reluctantly escapes his chapped lips and he forces himself to lean against the wall, despite not having full control of his body yet. His eyes carefully scan whatever they can of the room, but the only remarkable things he notices, is the broken shards of glass on the floor close to him and the straitjacket he's wearing. He cautiously wiggles his toes and whimpers in agony, when something sharp cuts deep into his sore, bare feet.

_Pain_. Odd, a few minutes ago, he couldn't remember or describe the word for what feeling he's experiencing. Hm. He notices dark, coagulated bloodstains on the filthy floor and alarmingly, disturbing thoughts are overpowering his mind. Everything's so eerily surreal and deep down he hopes it's a hellish nightmare, but the dull pain in his feet and his drowsy body, is telling him that, _yeah_ , this is real. This is happening. But why the hell did this happen? Who brought him here in the first place? What do they want with him, of all people in the world? One thought floods the other thought and is replaced immediately and all at once, he abruptly hears a deafening, grotesque scream. The door creaks, while it continuously opens and only when the other figure enters the room, he precisely watches his every movement. At first, he's all tense and suspicious, but the other figure, identified as a male, is not a threat to him of any sort, making him feel less.. Worried? Is that the word for it? Hm. The male is offering him a kind smile and his fear decreases. _A smile_. That's usually a good sign, he's sure of it.

”Thomas. Do you know why you're here? What you agreed to?”

Thomas? Is that his name? And what did he agree to? To his own annoyance, he still can't remember. An unsettling dread, that he might never be able to remember his past life again, is making it hard for him to breathe. His eyes flicks to the floor.

”N-no,” he stutters quietly, his own voice a complete stranger to himself, ”I don't know why I'm here.”

The man's smiling, but he knows it's out of pity. ”I don't want to scare you or startle you, but you're in an asylum. You agreed to the terms of electroconvulsive therapy, because you thought and suggested, that it might help make your illness endurable for you. And it succeeded without any major injuries. To that, I....”

His voice trails off, but he stopped listening as soon he heard the words _asylum_ and _electroconvulsive therapy_. He's not going to make it out of here, atleast not alive. He's doomed, unless he's making progress, that might help him have a chance of getting out of here. _Unless…_ The door's closed, _yes_ , but he thankfully didn't lock it. Maybe he has so much faith and trust in him, that he believes he won't try to run off. As he slowly rises from the floor, he enthusiastically informs him about God knows what. His feet stings, but he knows it's going to be worth it and makes a run for the door. Halfway through it, the doctor grabs him from behind, keeping him in a firm grip, that most likely will leave bruises.

”Thomas… We can't have you running off like that. Not again.”

This time, his voice is filled with disappointment, but Thomas is too caught up in the group of four coming at them. Before he even proceeds to open his mouth in response, a girl with dazzling blue eyes and curly hair, is knocking him down, releasing the hold of him. Surprisingly, his legs buckle and only then, sees the half filled syringe in his shoulder. _Fuck_. His breathing is becoming irregular and slow, eyelids heavy and the sudden tiring feeling, is overwhelming. A stranger is cautiously placing him on the ground, frantically petting his hair every now and then. He loses conscious for about thirty seconds.

”Oh god, Tommy, for how long have they kept you there?”

_Tired_. He's so goddamn tired. Yet the person is making him feel comfortable, safe and he trusts him. He intertwines their fingers, without knowing why, and the blonde is blushing. _Connection_. They have a connection with eachother, is fond of one another -

”Newt, we have to get the fuck out of here, before more of them are coming!”

The blonde, Newt, is staring at him again and wets his pink, tempting lips. Darkness is rapidly closing in on him, devouring him whole and the last thing stuck on repeat like a broken record player, is wide, promising eyes, before the lights fade out.

”I can't remember.”


End file.
